


Dust and Claws

by fullmoontonightt



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Army, Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Angst with a Happy Ending, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Discrimination, Found Family, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining Derek Hale, Pining Stiles Stilinski, Soldier Derek Hale, Soldier Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-23 10:07:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23376352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullmoontonightt/pseuds/fullmoontonightt
Summary: “See? Dogs always lick their bowls clean.” Snickering laugther fills the dining hall at the remark and Derek bits on his lip in annoyance. Even here the humans would never accept them.“Fucking assholes,” Erica sneers out across from him, “I should show them what an angry wolf really looks like.”
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 21
Kudos: 282





	Dust and Claws

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a bit darker than my usual stuff so I feel I should include a warning:
> 
> \- Death  
> \- Gore  
> \- Swearing

He scrapes his fork over the last few spots of what Derek thinks was supposed to be mashed potato, the sound of the metal on porcelain shrill to his ears, before letting the combined leftovers fill his mouth. His stomach aches for the day he’d finally have some good fucking food again. The food in the army wasn’t great, mostly focused on nutritional value and not on taste. The memory of his mother's lasagna has filled many of his dreams ever since he enlisted.

“See? Dogs always lick their bowls clean.”

The snickering remark was said loudly enough for the entire dining hall to hear. Private Whittemore had a pleased sneer on his face, smug satisfaction at his own joke visible in his expression.

Snorts fills the room around them and Derek bites the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his irritation under control. He knows he shouldn’t let Whittemore and his friends get to him, but the truth is that he couldn’t help but be aggravated. Boyd gives Derek an unimpressed look from across the table, a look Derek had come to know as the other man’s way of rolling his eyes. “You’d think they’d come up with better jokes after a year.”

Derek can’t help the soft laugh that escapes him and Erica snickers besides them.

Werewolves had only been ‘discovered’ two years ago. It hadn't been according to plan. There was this journalist down at the New York Times, her name was Blake if he remembers correctly. She’d apparently been working on the story for years, had gained the trust of several packs, and had plenty of photographic evidence. She also had a list containing all big settled packs in America. Derek’s family had been on it.

He remembers the panic in Laura’s eyes, the anger in Peter’s, the sour scent of fear slowly filling up their house. They’d always been careful. Control was the first thing they’d learned. No flashing eyes, no extracting fangs, no outcoming claws. No matter what happened. None one outside of the pack had known about them. Now everyone knew.

He still remembers the first day they went into town after the article had been published. It was the same grocery trip they took every saturday morning, but everyone in town now looked at them with fear. With disgust. With betrayal. Mothers had pulled their children behind them for safety when they walked by. It was one of the worst days of his life.

It was the day Derek realized the days of passing down the street without being stared at as if you’re a monster were over. The days of friendly smiles when you entered a room were over. The days of going to college, getting a nice job, meeting someone you love, settling down, the days of living an ordinary life, were over.

It was safe to say it changed everything. The idea of the supernatural being real and being amongst them, it’s a lot for people to take in. A lot to be scared of. The world became filled with cries of outrage, fear and worry for the future. Politicians were fiery in their responses, demanding for national werewolf registration and instant separation throughout these ‘troubled’ weeks.

It aggravated Derek. Werewolves had been existing amongst humans for centuries, never aiming for that to change, and now that they had been exposed humans were suddenly worried they would take over. Derek supposes that it made sense for people to be scared, finding out there are these beings who were faster and stronger than them, who had more senses and who healed from things humans died from. But werewolves had never used that power against them, apart from the couple of rotten apples throughout the years.

Werewolves had never wanted to take over, so why would they now? Werewolves had never gone out of their way to harm people. Why was there this sudden fear?

He hadn’t realized the extent of that fear until the real worst day of his life happened. The glow of the flames was a burning hot against his skin, even against the streams of tears flowing across his cheeks, as he stood watching the fire consume everything he’d cared about. Everyone he had cared about. His home. His pack. His family.

There was nowhere for him to go. No one for him to love. No one with even a glimmer of kindness for him. Their old neighbour, the closest thing he’d had to family, threw her door in his face before he could even get a single word out. Nevermind that he’d taken her grocery shopping every wednesday for half his life. He was a werewolf now. A cockroach. A monster. And monsters don’t have pain. Even as he’d just lost everything, he was still just a monster in her eyes. That was all he was.

A lone monster.

There was really only one place to go after that. The army had responded differently than the rest of society. They saw the use of wolves. Wolves were faster, stronger, could smell bombs and gun powder from miles away, healed from bullet wounds and could detect lies. All the makes for a perfect soldier. It was the only place he could go at that moment. The only place he was welcome.

Every battalion got three wolves, according to protocol. The framing of it had always made Derek’s skin crawl, they were being distributed as if they were weapons. Three missiles and three wolves for every battalion. As if that was all they were. But Derek knew that it _was_ all they were to them. Werewolves weren’t people and they would never be viewed like them.

But oh well..he supposes it beats being viewed as a monster and being burned to death by the very people you trusted and lived amongst for years.

Private Boyd and Reyes were his fellow wolves in camp. Derek had grown to like them. They were friendly, steady, loving and also left without family. They reminded him of himself. Except Erica was a bit more fiery than he was, flashing her fangs whenever dickheads in here challenged her. Derek had told her she should lay low a bit more, not give them more reason to view them as different, but the blonde didn’t seem to be wired to accept any shit from anyone.

Derek used to be like that. The way humans were treating them, he’d hated it. Wanted to fight it. So did Laura. But his mother had told them off, eyes flashing red as she spoke to them, humans were scared, already viewing them as monsters, and they shouldn’t give them any more reason to. She couldn’t have known that the real monsters had just been around the corner.

Not that humans needed any reasons to hate them. Werewolves were outcasts, social pariahs. Sitting at their own table at the end of the dining hall, no human soldier wanting to be seen next to them. Derek supposes a part of it made sense. If he was human and had dedicated his life to the force, he wouldn’t be happy when someone better fit for the job showed up. Someone who could do what he could, except better. Someone that could replace him.

Derek shoves his tray forwards on the table, the high pitched sound of it barely hearable above the loud laughter that was still ongoing in the dining hall. He can see Erica’s upper lip twitching in irritation. He places his hand on hers. “Calm down.”

“Fucking assholes,” she sneers out, but she does lower her voice so none one but them can hear, “I should show them what an angry wolf really looks like.”

Boyd gives her a pointed look as he takes another fork of the plain green beans on his plate. “And who would that help?”

Boyd was right. It wouldn’t help anyone. This was just the way it was for now. They might as well get used to it.

Jackson is still snickering out of his mind, his stupid buddies laughing along with him, when sergeant Stilinski entered. Derek immediately straightens in his seat. Sergeant Stilinski was the youngest sergeant they had in their ranks, younger than even Derek, and rumours about his time served in Kuwait had filled the camp as soon as he arrived.

Supposedly, Stilinski had started out in the IT department and he’d been the one to hack into the enemy headquarters. Stopped a missile attack from hitting American troops. It was a success story. But then they’d traced him and apparently attempted to kill him. Thankfully others reached him in time. A promotion was the least the army could do.

Also, Derek had a massive crush on him. He’d stopped trying to deny it a few months ago. Not only was the sergeant one of the most beautiful men Derek had ever seen, with the constellation of moles splattered across his neck, he was also kind in a way others weren’t. He’d never called them dogs or sniffers, had never treated them as anything other than soldiers. And kindness like that is rare in these parts. Even if Derek hadn’t wanted to, it was hard not to get a crush on the man.

He swallows when the whiskey golden eyes glance his way and a frown comes onto Stilinski’s face as he looks between the wolves table and the still laughing Jackson boys.

His mouth becomes a thin line, eyebrows raised, and he walks over to Jackson.“Something funny, Whittemore?”

Even Jackson didn’t have the guts to talk back to a superior officer and his cheeks reddened almost comically as he huffed out a no sir. Derek couldn’t help the pleased smile on his lips.

\--

Sergeant Stilinski had called for him the next day. It made Derek nervous, an unsettled feeling coming to his stomach. None of them had ever been called in by the man before. It was usually lieutenant Harris or Finstock that gave them their orders, not Stilinski.

He glances up at the sergeant’s name on the glistening nameplate before knocking on the metal door.

“Come in.”

Sergeant Stilinski sits behind his desk, eyes fixated on a computer screen in front of him and chewing mindlessly on the backside of a pen. Which shouldn’t look as attractive as it did. He looks up when Derek enters, a smile coming onto his features. “Ah, private Hale. Thank you for wanting to meet.”

“Not a problem, sergeant.” Derek frowns, still unsure of what is going on, and he sits down when Stilinski points to the empty chair in front of him.

“Coffee?” The sergeant is still smiling and Derek has to avert his eyes at how beautiful it makes him look. He quickly nods.

Stilinski moves through his office, walking over to where a senseo machine stands in the corner and pressing the central button to pour them both a cup. A map of the desert hangs above it, red strings spun across it pinpointing locations. A couple of pictures are pinned to it as well, Derek not recognizing any of them.

The sergeant turns and looks at Derek, sporting a soft smile. “I’m sure you’re questioning why I called you in. Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad. I’ve just always had a bit of a wondering mind.”

He sounders back to the desk then, balancing the coffees in his hand and almost dropping them as he trips over a misplaced computer cord. “Ah, fuck.”

Derek tries to hide his grin. It was unusual for someone in a higher ranking to show their true feelings like that. Stilinski seems to realize this too, a blush now marking his cheeks, and he sits down. Derek suppresses his thoughts of how endearing the man in front of him is.

“Right,” Stilinski starts, pushing a cup of coffee Derek’s way, “I have noticed how the others treat you. For a while now. As much as I would want to change it, I’m not sure I can. But I apologize for their behaviour.”

Derek feels his eyebrows rise. No one higher up ever commented on the situation, much less apologized for it. He keeps his voice steady when he speaks up, not wanting to reveal how much the apology touched him. “Thanks sergeant.”

“I’ve always hated racism. Or well..spiecism?” Stilinski’s eyebrows furrow adorably as he considers the word. Derek tries not to stare.

Stilinski shrugs then, flicking his gorgeous auburn eyes back to Derek. “I have my own thoughts about how the army has been using you guys, but that is not the point right now. I have been wondering if we are truly utilizing your abilities as good as we could be. I have done some research, but I’m afraid it didn’t answer all my questions.”

“I’ll happily answer them, sir.”

The wide smile is back and Derek tries not to be affected by the sheer beauty and kindness in it. A pensive look comes over Stilinski, his mouth slightly open and eyes big and curious. “Is it true werewolves can take pain?”

“Yes,” Derek can’t help but look down at the table vulnerably, “we can’t take it away completely, but we can ease it.”

The impressed gleam that comes over the sergeants eyes seems to be made up purely of genuine interest. Derek frowns, not used to that reaction when it comes to werewolf abilities. Most people are scared, feel vulnerable at hearing how much werewolves can really do. None of that seems visible in the man in front of him. His scent is just..excited. As if this information is making his day. Derek wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

“That’s..- interesting,” Stilinski looks as if he was about to use a different word to describe his feeling, but thought better of it, “I suppose that would beat morphine then.”

He huffs out a laugh at his own joke and Derek can’t help the small grin that’s now marking his face.

The sergeant’s eyes turn careful and considerate. The faintest trace of a blush reaching his cheeks. “Is that..an ability you would want to utilize for us?”

“Sure, sergeant.”

“Don’t just say yes because you feel you have to.” The eyes looking down at him seem kind, free of judgement. “Think about it, private.”

Walking out of the room, Derek can’t help but feel confused at the conversation he just had. He does know that the image of sergeant Stilinski looking genuinely interested in what he was, without fear, without judgement, and the way he’d pressed on Derek thinking twice about using his abilities for them, will play a role in his fantasies tonight.

\--

Finstock’s eyes are speared open wider than Derek has ever seen them. There’s an uncontrolled rage in them and they almost pop out of their caskets as the man speaks up. “If a wolf did this, then why did you not tell us? What is the point of you lot if you can’t even recognize your own kind?”

The body of the dead soldier lies between them, deep red blood having stained the patch of sand below him, and it’s clear that the marks that caused the private to meet his end originated from a set of claws.

“I don’t know sir.” Derek gritted his teeth. “They must have done something to cover their scent.”

“Useless, you’re all fucking useless.” Finnstock shifts his eyes, one of the veins in his forehead throbbing visibly. He scowls, pointing an angry finger their way. “Don’t stand here watching. Go find the bloody thing.”

Thing. Cause that was all they were to them. Things. Derek shakes his head, ignoring the upbubbling irritation in his chest, and turns around to Erica - whose frown tells him she feels the same way. Together they take off, running towards the small town near their camp. If the wolf was there, they should be able to sniff him out.

They shift as they run through the Afghan desert plains. The sand blows up where his feet make contact with the dirt, sending clouds of dust up his nose. The white painted houses of the town become visible in front of them and they slow their pace, not wanting to draw too much attention to themselves as they surveille the town.

The place isn’t too big, probably a couple of thousand people inhabiting it, but it was closest to their settlement. The buildings were once a bright white, contrasting against the tan colours of the deserts, but years of war have turned them a meek yellow. Paint is chipping off the sides of them and bullet holes now fill up the foundations. It’s a blank reminder of how war changes things.

Lifting his nose up in the air Derek tries, he really tries, but the busy market square is crawling with overlapping scents. The smell of freshly cooked meat, the sweat of people who work all day in the blazing sun, the sadness coming from the mother who doesn’t have enough money to feed her baby, the disgusting smell of rotting flesh underneath the foot of that one guy in the corner, the smells of rats who crawl through scraps underneath the tents. It’s a lot. And none of it is supernatural.

Derek feels like he would have noticed the presence of another werewolf. It was more than scent, it was power too. He feels like he would have felt the arrival of an omega. They have unstable energy surrounding them, their wolves desperately looking for pack bonds to attach themselves to. Derek would have felt that. So maybe it’s not an omega.

Looking over at Erica, he sees the bitten wolf is attempting to sniff out any scent she can. Her nose scrunches up in disgust, probably rotten foot guy, and she sighs as she looks up at him. “I got nothing.”

“Me neither.” Derek grimaces, folding his arms around each other. “There’s like there’s no trace of them.”

“Them?” Erica frowns worriedly, moving to wipe a newly formed layer of sweat off her forehead. “You think we’re dealing with a whole pack?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Let’s hope the fuck not.”

Derek can’t help but agree with the sentiment. Together they stare out over the town, with its many tangling alleyways and crumbling buildings, and there’s not a trace of werewolf in the air.

\--

Training used to be a fond memory for him. Late afternoons spent in their backyard, rays of sun shining down on them through the treetops, his mother showing them positions, balance, control. Her stern voice still rings through his head as a painful reminder to how life was supposed to be. _Your claws are an extension of you. They are a part of you. A part you only use when necessary._

It was a memo the army hadn’t received. There wasn’t even a werewolf training them, because that would mean allowing a werewolf to have a higher position within the organisation. Instead they had Chris Argent. A knowledgeable man to be fair, knew a lot about combat and especially knew how to fight werewolves. Not how to fight as one.

Derek doesn’t think the army realizes just how disrespectful it is to let an ex-hunter train their werewolves. He had a lot of opinions about it, but the man itself wasn’t honestly too bad. Argent had them doing shifting exercises, which weren’t awful, but Derek might as well be training them himself. He would do a better job of it, considering he actually knew what he was talking about.

Shaking the soreness out of his shoulders, he suddenly feels eyes on him from the balcony. Turning around, sergeant Stilinski is gazing their way. His eyes intrigued, mouth stuck in a small smile, as he watches Erica and Boyd struggle on the ground. When his eyes move to Derek the sergeant sends him an even wider smile. The scent of enjoyment and approval is strong in the air and Derek can’t help but preen at the recognition.

Eyes going back to where Erica is now charging at him, he swoops her onto the ground with a single effortless movement. It’s a lot more strength than he would normally use and he tries to tell himself he would have done that anyway, that the studying eyes of a certain lanky man had nothing to do with it.

When he lays in his bunkbed later that night, the sheets tickling the hairs on his legs, he can’t help but think about the lean, pale body of sergeant Stilinski and the way those bright amber eyes had looked at him as he wraps his hand around his growing erection.

\--

The night had fallen, the sky an outstretched canvas of deep indigo above him. The moon and stars were bigger here, shining brightly in the darkness. The air was fresher too, purer, not filled with the stench of big cities and traffic. Sometimes Derek found himself enjoying the feeling.

He’d always liked the quiet. It made him feel like he was a part of it. Of the earth. Of nature. That he belonged there. Not disturbing anything, but just existing as a part of the universe. It was one of the nicer things about being here in the desert.

“It can be beautiful, huh?” Derek startles as sergeant Stilinski moves up next to him, not having heard the other man coming.

The sergeant looks at him with a small smile, shrugging when Derek doesn’t speak up. “You know, when we’re not spilling blood all over it.”

Derek nods, finding himself to agree with that statement, and they turn quiet as they stare up at the outstretched landscape in front of them. The outline of the dunes stares back up at them. Derek bites his lip and questions about why the sergeant was here when he was apparently against it all fill up his mind.

He stares up at the man beside him, who has a wishful look over him now. Eyes far away as he’s caught up in his own thoughts. He has a strong profile, with a sharp line for a jaw, a tip-tilted nose and the slightest trace of constantly upturned lips. Derek can’t help looking down appreciatively. The sergeant looks back at him then, eyes friendly, as he gives Derek the slightest smile. Correctly guessing Derek’s previous line of thought.

“Not all of us sergeants agree with our given instructions.”

“Neither do we.” Derek attempts a light-hearted tone, but even he can hear it didn’t come across successfully.

He didn’t expect the hand that is now on his shoulder. His eyes are quick as they move from the point of contact up to sergeant’s face. The understanding smile he finds there does more to him than the other man could realize. His expression softens when he looks at Derek. “I know, private.”

\--

Another dead body lies at their gate the next day, a pool of blood around his head like some dark and twisted halo. Derek recognizes it as private Deahler, one of Jackson’s goonies, and their entire battalion stands in a shocked frenzy around them.

Boyd is a stoic presence next to him, looking down at the body with a sense of remorse. Derek feels much the same, whilst he’d never like Deahler - it was upsetting to see a fellow soldier lying dead at their feet. A grim reminder of how it could be any of them at any time. The obvious claw marks on his body reveal it is not a human attack. Derek grimaces as he realizes it was a message. A clear one. Two of their men showing up dead in front of their camp gates. They weren’t welcome here.

Finnstock was yelling into his portable radio, barking out orders for everyone to fuck off, and sergaent Stilinski had a grim look in his eyes from where he sat crouched down next to the body. Their eyes meet and Derek can’t do anything but swallow at the sadness visible in the other man’s eyes.

He’d smelled the air for any lingering scents as soon as he got here, finding none, when suddenly he gets a whiff of a trial. It’s weak, already disappearing from the atmosphere as soon as he noticed it. He straightens, the muscles in his back tightening, and he can see Boyd having the same reaction next to him. They share a look, non verbally confirming they both smelled it, and Derek knows they have to say something. They can chase it. Track it. Glancing over at Finstock, who looks busy arranging the clean up of the body, he is unsure of whether his interruption would be frowned upon.

It’s then that sergeant Stilinski is suddenly in front of him, eyes filled with recognition. “You smell something?”

Derek quickly nods, his instincts shaking to run after the now fainting scent.

Stilinski’s eyes widen and he nods, giving Derek approval with his eyes. “Go.”

They take off, ignoring the rotten looks they get, and follow their noses as they run across the slippery sand. It’s clear the wolf had attempted to cover their scent, like they did the last time, but for some reason it hadn’t worked as well this time around.

The trial leads them to an old wooden structure on top of the hill, about a mile from the centre of the village. It must have been a farm before war hit, the rows of dying crops surrounding it revealing as much, and the building itself looks close to collapsing. The smell of werewolf is stronger here, but still fainter than Derek is used to it being.

Boyd gives him an unsure glance over his shoulder as he moves to the farm door. It creaks unpleasantly when it opens, the rotten wood protesting the movement, and the shed seems empty when they step inside. Abandoned farm equipment is spread through the room, a lonely looking wheelbarrow taking place in the corner. Leftover strands of hay on the ground reveal that the farm had been active not too long ago.

There’s no one in the building, both his vision and sense of smell telling him so. It’s an odd space, some sort of mixture between a tool shed and a living room. His eyes glance over the spades and rakes hanging off rusty nails on the wall and an unsettling feeling in his stomach tells him that this is the wolf’s den. Boyd lifts up a worn blanket in the left corner, the strange wolf’s scent all over it, and Derek nods. This is definitely the place he had been hiding out in.

There’s a tud from their right, the sound of metal clinking against the floor, and they both stand in attention as they avert their eyes to the thin scrap of fabric that hangs there. They share a meaningful look as Boyd cautiously steps forwards, lifting his arm to pull away the makeshift curtain.

There’s a child. A cub. The boy can’t be older than ten, tears streaming across his cheeks, as he looks up at them with fearful golden eyes. His thick black hair is sticking to his forehead and Derek feels his heart tighten in his chest. It’s just a kid. A clearly terrified kid.

Derek raises his hands, wanting to show the boy that he means no harm, and slowly steps up next to Boyd. The kid’s eyes look between them with fear and a broken word in a foreign language falls from his lips. Whilst Derek doesn’t understand what it means, the tone of it is clearly afraid. He tries to plaster a kind smile on his face, attempting to comfort the child, when the boy suddenly rushes forwards, placing his claws right in Boyd’s chest.

Fucking hell. Derek can hear the pained gasp coming from Boyd’s lips and whilst he knows there is no immediate danger - a child’s claws can’t kill an adult wolf - Derek presses forwards and pins the child against the wall.

Boyd staggers back behind him, instinctively raising his hand onto the injury on his stomach. Derek only has a second to look at him, the cub now biting down into his hand and he growls. He strengthens his hold on the boy, who’s yelling out words in Persain desperately, as he tries to think about what to do. Fuck. Was this the wolf they’d been looking for? The wolf that killed two of their men? It’s just a boy.

His question gets answered quicker than he’d hoped. The loud growl of pain is a sound Derek will never forget. Nor is the image of Boyd, impaled on an elongated spade, an old man snarling behind him. A long white beard frames his face, but all Derek can focus on are the alpha red eyes staring him down.

Boyd falls to the knees, a last stuttering breath falling from his lips, and Derek feels frozen in his place. Frozen in time. He feels like he can’t do anything when the alpha’s claws come towards him next. Darkness takes over his vision and the last thing he can remember is falling down onto the dirt of the farm floor.

\--

He’s lying on something soft when he wakes up. His body hurts, shoulders rigid and a burning feeling down his sides. Blinking open his eyes, he’s almost blinded by the bright white light of the lamp above him. He manages to release a grunt and immediately a pair of hands is on his arm. “Oh thank god you’re alive.”

Squinting his eyes further open, he sees Erica is standing next to his bed. Her eyes are watery, the red marks on her cheeks revealing she’s been crying, and her hair is done up in a messy ponytail. She releases a breath, relief hearable in it. “They told me you’d be fine but let’s be honest they don’t know shit about treating wolves here.”

Derek swallows. Afraid to ask what he wants to ask and if the heartbreaking sorrow that is present in Erica’s scent is any indication, he already knows the answer. His throat tightens, a painful lump taking place inside it, and he moves to sit up in the hospital bed. His bruised ribs protest the movement but he has to know. Looking over at Erica, who now has tears falling from her eyes, he only manages to get out a word. “Boyd?”

She just shakes her head, tears freely flowing, and the absolute wrecked look in her eyes is all the confirmation he needs. She releases a broken sob and he opens his arms, allowing for her to throw herself onto his chest. As he holds her, he can’t help the salty liquid from escaping his own eyes. Fuck.

Boyd had become more than a friend for both of them. He was pack. They hold each other in a deadly silence, both caught up in their own now painful memories, as they allow their wolves to comfort each other.

\--

Medic Melissa came to check on his injuries not much later, giving the two of them a kind smile as she gently escorted Erica out of the emergency room. Derek had actually never been in the room before, never having been injured badly enough to warrant getting up here, but he had met Melissa on several occasions. The medic was goodhearted, never having treated Derek as any less than a regular coworker.

“Wolf healing is not my specialty.” The woman huffs out, pressing a cloth damp with alcohol against Derek’s wounds. He hisses. “But it looks like the wound is already healing itself.”

Derek nods, having felt his body kicking in the healing process. He can still feel the aching tug of where the alpha had slashed him, but he can feel the cuts filling themselves back up.

“You were lucky,” Melissa sends him a tentative smile as she moves up, “they weren’t deep enough to hit any internal organs.”

He supposes that was something he should be pleased about, but all he can think is that they should have been. The haunting image of Boyd impaled on that spade keeps replaying inside his brain, thoughts of how he should have acted, how he should have been more careful, been more aware of his surroundings but mostly, how it should have been him, bang on behind his forehead.

Melissa has no way of knowing that though and a remorseful look fills her features. She opens his mouth to speak up, pushing some escaped curls back behind her ear, when a soft knock on the door interrupts her.

A familiar scent fills his nose and Derek’s eyes shoot up to see sergeant Stilinski standing in the door opening. “Hi.”

“Hi Stiles.” Melissa smiles sweetly at the other man and Derek can’t keep his eyebrows from rising. The sergeant's first name was Stiles? What kind of name is Stiles?

“My favorite private doing okay?” Stiles attempts to humor the situation, moving in to squeeze Melissa’s shoulder with familiarity but keeping his eyes fixed on Derek.

“He’ll be fine.” Melissa moves up to press a loving hand against Stiles’ chest. The contact made clear that the two knew each other quite well. Melissa takes off the plastic blue gloves she was wearing, throwing them into the bin before grabbing her clipboard and heading out of the room to give them some privacy.

The air between them tenses as the sergeant goes to stand at the foot of Derek’s bed. There’s an uncertainty visible in his eyes and his heart stutters nervously underneath his uniform. Derek frowns, why is the other man so anxious?

His confusion must show on his face as the sergeant swallows visibly, breaking eye contact, before he speaks up. “I just came to give my condolences. I know they don’t help and that they don’t actually mean anything, but I wanted to give them anyway. Boyd was a good man.”

Their eyes meet and Derek has to swallow at the intensity he finds in the sergeant’s eyes. Derek can tell he had been genuine in every word and he huffs out a soft thanks.

He wasn’t planning on saying anything, but the words seem to tumble out of his mouth on their own. “It was my fault.”

Stilinski’s eyes soften at hearing that and his scent fills up with genuine compassion. “If it’s your fault, then it’s my fault too. I gave the order after all.”

Their eyes connect and a lump comes to Derek’s throat as he nods, not knowing what to say otherwise. Sergeant Stilinski just gives him a small smile, his hand hovering above Derek’s leg as if he’d thought about squeezing it supportively. The sergeant seems to catch himself before he does, cheeks turning a crimson red, and wishes Derek a speedy recovery before he walks out the door.

When he leaves the room, all Derek can think about is how these condolences definitely meant something. The fact that a commanding sergeant came all this way to offer his regrets over a werewolf death and mean them was not something to be taken lightly. In here, that meant everything.

\--

He was discharged from the medical department the following morning. The wound on his side had healed up, now nothing more than three thin red lines across his ribs, and whilst there was still a dull ache he was fine otherwise. Physically, at least.

Boyd’s death is still fresh in his mind and Derek doesn’t think he can ever look at a spade again without recalling the bitter scent of his friend’s blood. Mostly, he’s angry. Angry at the wolf who did this. Angry at the fact Boyd had been forced to enlist in the first place, because no other job would take him because of his known werewolf status. Angry that it had taken a man in the middle of his life. Angry that it didn’t take him instead.

Walking into the dining area, everyone in the room seems to stop what they were doing to stare at him. There’s a distaste in the air, a sour smell of anger and blame, and Derek grits his teeth as he pointedly ignores everyone’s gazes and goes to join Erica at their table.

Well it wasn’t officially their table, but no one else ever came to sit with them. Erica sends him a weak looking smile as he walks up, pushing a tray filled with white rice, chicken breast and some bare carrots on it his way. There are heavy bags under her eyes and her eyes themselves look tired, a red rim visible from where she had probably been crying all night. Derek gives her a small upturn of his lips in return, letting her know she wasn’t alone here, and he goes to sit down.

He hadn’t thought about it at all, just sitting down in his usual seat. Except his usual seat had always been across from Boyd, with Erica next to Boyd. Their looks become hollow, pain filling up their chests, as they both stare at the empty chair they’d unconsciously left in between them.

He swallows, trying to push the upcoming flashes of Boyd’s last moments out of his head, and Erica releases a pained sigh across from him. Placing his hand on hers, he attempts to let his scent comfort her. Boyd’s chair serves as a ghostly reminder next to them.

There is a complaining rumble behind them in the room and he can hear soldiers riling each other up behind him. Erica groans before lifting her eyes to look at Derek. He can smell the rage welling up in her scent and her voice is filled with distaste as she almost physically spits out her next words. “Fucking assholes all of them. It was even worse yesterday when it was just me.”

Derek was getting close to being done. Done with being in this place, constantly being spat on, treated worse than the cockroaches under their feet even if all they were doing was helping.

The sound of approaching footsteps wakes him from his thoughts, but just increases the burning fury in his chest. Especially when he recognizes them as Whittemore’s. He has to dig his fingernails into his palms roughly to control his growing anger and to stop them from turning into claws. Jackson seems angry too, his eyebrows sit on his face in two tight lines and his mouth is curled up with distaste, as he goes to lean over their table threateningly. “Quite the quick recovery huh Hale?”

It takes all he has to not swing the other private across the room. Instead he glances upwards, clasping his teeth together. “Just say what you came to say Whittemore.”

“See?” Jackson’s voice is a loathful hiss. “I don’t trust anything that heals that fast. You dogs have it easy huh? Taking hits and bullets like it’s nothing. If only Deahler had been able to heal like that, then we might have actually had some good fucking people in this place.”

Erica snarls loudly across from him, fangs having replaced her front teeth, and the eyes of the entire battalion are now on them. Derek has to bite down on his lip, the way he’s digging his claws into the bench he’s sitting on revealing he’s not far behind Erica in his anger.

“Look at that,” Jackson spits out a dark sounding laugh, raising the volume of his voice as he points at Erica, “fucking unnatural is what you dogs are. The day they allowed you beasts into this force is the day disgrace came over us all.”

His nostrils flare and he almost sees red as he tries to remain onto the last strand of control he has left. Erica seems worse off than him, a loud constant growl filling up the space between them, and he can see her eyes shine their bright goldenness as they remain fixed on the sneer on Jackson’s face.

The other man spits out another of those disgusting huffs of laughter, shaking his head as if he can’t believe Derek and Erica are still allowed in the hall, and he steps backwards. His eyes flick up and down their table with such a rotten hatred that Derek can feel his canines expanding behind his tightly closed lips.

“At least now there’s one less of you.”

That was it. He heard Erica’s growl before he even processed what he was doing. The trays of food clatter onto the floor as he jumps up, pouncing forwards and releasing the loudest growl he ever has as he pins Jackson against the dining hall wall.

The scent of fear is strong in the air as Derek presses the tips of his claws into the other man’s sides. Not deep enough to hit anything vital, but definitely deep enough to hurt like a bitch. A pained breath comes from the man underneath him and Derek just pushes in further in response.

He snarls into the face of a now terrified Jackson, making sure to show the guy the canines that could have him dead within a second. His voice is closer to a growl when he speaks up over his shifted teeth. “You think you’re so special huh Whittemore? You lost a friend huh? We all fucking did. At least Boyd died honorably. He died tracking down the wolf who killed your fucking friend. He died in combat, died for his country and for his fellow soldiers, and he was twice the man you’ll ever be. If I ever hear you disrespect him or us again I will personally slit your throat out. With my teeth.”

Jackson is a pale white underneath him, all blood having drained from his face, and Derek can’t help but enjoy the genuine fear he finds in the other man’s eyes. He pushes his claws in just a little further, earning himself a pained whine. “You understand?”

The nod is quick and breathy, soft fearful huffs of air leaving Whittemore’s lungs, and the sharp scent of urine fills the air. Derek almost wants to smirk, but the sorching anger is still too present inside him. Having taken over all his other senses. “And you hear me Whittemore? You can’t run from me. I can find you anywhere you try to run to. In fact, I should just save myself the trouble and rip out your jugular right here and now.”

And he wants to. He’s never been this angry, the feeling burning through his entire being, and he honestly can’t say what he would have done if the calming hand didn’t arrive on his left shoulder. Looking backwards, he finds the concerned eyes of sergeant Stilinski staring at him.

“Okay that’s good Derek, come on, you can let go now.” Stiles steps closer towards him, squeezing down his grip on his shoulder. There’s a spike of worry in his scent, but no fear. Derek feels his features morph back to human at the realization. The red bleeds out of his eyes and Stiles sends him a relieved smile, guiding him away from Jackson. “That’s it private Hale. You’re doing good.”

Looking back around the room, he can smell the anxiety strongly in the space. Everyone is looking at him with wide, fearful eyes and he realizes he has no idea how much time has passed. He has no idea of how long sergeant Stilinski had been talking to him before he noticed. He has no idea how deep he was into his shift and into his rage, but the genuine fear everyone is sending his way only reveals that it must have been quite far. The only person not afraid of him seems to be Stiles and Derek can’t help but frown at the observation.

The sergeant’s eyes harden as he faces the rest of the room. “This is behaviour we do not tolerate here. Hale, lose the claws. And you, private Whittermore. I am done with this fucking attitude of yours. We’ve lost three men to this alpha and all of them are equal in importance.”

Derek feels his cheeks redden, sudden embarrassment at having sergeant Stilinski call him out filling up his chest. Sergeant Stilinski seems to notice and he stares up at Derek with big eyes. “Right, you’re coming with me.” His voice is soft and low, on a volume only werewolves could pick up on. “Don’t worry. You’re not in trouble.”

Then, louder. “Haigh, take Whittemore to medical urgently.”

Derek feels numb as he allows the careful hands of Stiles to guide him out of the room. Erica sends him a worried look as they disappear out of the door.

\--

The cushion of the chair feels odd against his skin and a numbness is still present inside him as he wraps his hands around the warm cup of coffee the sergeant had handed him. The warmth of the liquid ebbs a portion of his nerves away. Stilinski’s office is messier than the last time he was in here, whole stacks of papers spread around the desk, and more coloured threads seem to have been added to the map behind the filing cabinet. Derek eyes can’t help but linger on the collection of hastily written post-its and photos on it, not understanding what any of it means.

The sergeant sits behind his desk, hands folded in his lap, and he looks up at Derek earnestly. “I’m sorry.”

What? Derek feels his brows furrow. He must not have understood correctly because there was no way in hell that a superior officer had just taken him out of a violent altercation and then apologized to _him_. “I’m sorry sir?”

“For whatever Whittemore said,” Stiles moves to scratch the back of his neck, his eyes fixed on Derek, “I know he can be a massive dick.”

Derek’s eyebrows rise even higher and he’s almost scared they’ll stay up there forever with how this conversation is going. Because honestly..what was going on here? He’d just attacked a fellow private, severely injuring him on top of that, and here his commanding officer is just calling the other guy a dick.

Whatever the reason for it, Derek decides to count his blessings. Even though he still stands behind his actions and he’d do it again in a heartbeat to defend Boyd, a feeling of shame comes to his chest. His mother wouldn’t have been proud of his actions today. He swallows before looking back up at the sergeant. “I shouldn’t have lost control.”

“You have excellent control and we both know it.” A wry grin comes to Stilinski’s lips. “I can imagine what Whittemore said and if it’s as bad as I’m thinking it is no mystery your control momentarily slipped.”

“Plus, Jackson has had a beating coming his way for a long time. I just wish you hadn’t done it at the middle of breakfast.” A teasing sparkle is visible in Stilinski’s eyes, before he seems to realize it’s inappropriate. He swallows, regaining seriousness. “I’m afraid I can’t make it go away for you.”

“You can’t make it..what?” 

“I can’t cover for you. I mean I could still take some responsibility for it, I was supposed to be on watch after all, but I think they might want to make an example of you. Even if Jackson deserved it.” The somehow genuine apologetic look gets covered with a pensive one. “Or well, maybe not now that I think about it. They wouldn’t like only having one wolf left.”

All Derek can do it gape at the man in front of him, not believing his ears. “Why..why would you do that?”

Stilinski swallows then, the lump of his adam’s apple moving up and down attractively, and his eyes sparkle with an unknown intensity as he looks up at Derek. “I told you you were my favorite private before. It wasn’t a lie.”

\--

The sergeant’s words don’t leave his mind, as if on a constant loop, as he walks through the cold hallways of their building. Just another addition to the crazy maze that the inside of his head has become.

He feels as if there’s danger around every corner in his mind. One wrong turn and he ends up back in the old farm, Boyd’s lifeless eyes staring him down. The sound of his last wrecked breath replaying in his mind until he wants to scream himself. Another turn and he’s back home, the touch of his mother’s hand warm and familiar on his face before she gets wrecked away from him, engulfing in flames right before his eyes. Stiles is around the other corner, eyes big and so loving, all he wants to do is help. _You’re my favourite private after all._ And all Derek can feel is the increased feeling of how he doesn’t deserve any of it.

He wants to go to the beach. Curl up in a ball on the sand and let the waves take him away. Let them pull him deep under the currents and drown him in a sweet vast of calmness.

He finds Erica outside in the small training area they sometimes use. She’s leaning against the wall, eyes hardened over as she looks over the vast plains in front of them. Her expression softens a little when he moves in next to her. “Thanks for what you did this morning. Boyd would have loved seeing you make Whittemore piss himself.”

Despite his shitty mood, that makes him crack a smile. Boyd would have liked that.

Neither of them say anything after that, anger and frustration still present in both their scents, and Derek realizes this is it. This is his breaking point. He is fucking done with this place.

Looking up at the blonde next to him, who he hasn’t seen crack one of her familiar smirks in days, he speaks his mind. “Why are we still here?”

Erica sighs, taking a small step forwards and lowering herself down onto the wooden crate that stands in front of them. The look they share is full of mutual understanding. “I don’t know. It’s clear they don’t want us here. They don’t understand us, much like they don’t understand this war. Before I stayed, I endured it, because this was the only home I had. You and..Boyd, you were the only home I had. I stayed for you.”

Her breathing turns shaky at the mention of Boyd’s name, lungs gasping in air harshly, but her eyes remain dry as she looks up at him with clear intent. “Let’s go find a new home Der.”

The only thought that protests her words is the fact that there was one person here that did understand them. But he can’t let himself fall for false dreams. Not here. There is too much at stake here. His job. His life. Even Erica is at stake and he is not about to lose the last family he has left. The thought of Boyd fills back up his mind and he grits his teeth, realizing there was one thing left for him here.

“We’ll leave tomorrow. After we’ve snapped that alpha’s neck.”

\--

The deep green military issued duffle bag is filled to the brim. He didn’t have a lot of things here, just his uniforms and a few plain shirts. His picture frame is stored safely in between them, the clothes as a soft layer of protection. It’s the only important belonging he still has. The only picture he has left of his family.

Reaching into the bag, he gets it out for a last look of well..support. It was taken at the last camping trip they took together, up in the woods by the lake north of their house. His parents were smiling warmly in the back, genuine enjoyment visible in their expressions - even if his dad wasn’t looking at the camera. Wrinkles are visible around his eyes, caught up in laughter at how Cora hadn’t wanted to be in the picture. She looks grumpy, just rolled out of their tent, and annoyed that she has to be photographed in her pyjamas. Laura is rolling her eyes at her in the back, which Derek had always found ironic - the last visual he’d ever have from his oldest sister and she’s rolling her eyes. Her soft auburn hair is wildly framing her face, she too hadn’t been prepared for the picture, and her arm is wrapped around his shoulder familiarly. He himself is smiling widely in a way he hasn’t done since. Kiara is behind them, arms around his mother, and his sister’s smile is as sweet as he remembers it being. The two of them are the only ones staring directly in the camera, his mother’s eyes filled with love and warmth he wants to baptize himself in.

A bittersweet feeling fills up his chest, love and appreciation of the people in the picture warming the gaping hole of another loss. Swallowing, he carefully places the frame back in between his clothes and it disappears from his view as he zips up the bag.

Erica is waiting for him near the front gate. Two soldiers stand on watch, Haigh and another guy Derek doesn’t know the name off. They manage to slip past them into a secluded corner, where they jump over the fence. His hand gets scratched up in the barbed wire but is already healed over before he can even react to it.

It takes them not even ten minutes to reach the old farm. It’s weird to realize just how close the building had been to them this entire time. It looks as close to collapsing as it did the last time he was here and a vision of Boyd opening up the door flashes before his eyes. Fuck. He didn’t want to be back here. But he needs to be. Swallowing, he pushes through those thoughts and they step inside together.

The spade lies abandoned on the floor, remainders of Boyd’s blood still covering half its length, and Derek can’t help his intake of breath. Erica’s arms are around him before he knows it, her head leaning against his shoulder. The loose strands of her curls tickle his neck and he feels her breath on his skin as she speaks up. “If it’s too much, we can still just leave.”

He shutters out a breath, placing his hands down firmly on hers as he looks over his shoulder into her eyes. “No. I want to do this.”

She nods, an understanding look in her eyes as she releases him from the warmth of her arms. The farm is clear of any scents, but that was the same way last time, and he hesitates before stepping up towards the curtain.

He ignores the shaking of his hand as he pulls the torn fabric away, revealing there is no one behind it this time. The sigh he releases is half relieved, half disappointed. They’d have to track him now.

They walk around the farm for a bit, letting their lungs fill up with the outside air in the hope of finding even the slightest trace of a trial, and they scout through the surrounding mountains until they reach the town. It’s there they get their first trace and the bitter scent of blood is in the air. They run, shifting as they do so, not caring about the worried screams of the locals around them. The narrow alleyways, filled with women trying to sell their merchandise and innocently playing children, don’t hold them back as they rush through them, their noses sharp in attention to the already fading scent.

An open field greets them, a single row of electricity poles running across it, and Derek growls as he sees sergeant Stilinski squirming on the ground, the alpha hovering above him with his claws out. Derek’s on him before he knows what he’s doing, digging his claws deep into the alpha’s chest. The extracted canines of the other man snap around wildly, attempting to bite down on any part of Derek he can reach. Derek grunts, not letting that happen, and a rage fills his chest as he looks at the killer of one of the last friends he’d had left. Pushing down with all his strength, he goes in and reaches for the older wolf’s heart.

“Stop!” Sergeant Stilinski is standing now, holding a blood covered hand to his lower stomach. “There’s a child.”

“We know.” Erica snarls out, eyes an angry gold.

The look on Stilinski’s face is filled with sorrow. “It might be the only family the kid has left.”

Derek grunts, hesitating, and the alpha uses that moment to flip them over. A pained noise comes out of his throat at the feeling of the alpha biting down into his bicep. The sound is nothing compared to the ear deafening growl that comes out of Erica as she pounces on the alpha. “Not him too you fucker.”

It takes a second for Derek to jump up from where he was lying on his back, wanting to get back in there, when his eyes meet Stilinski’s. The sergeant is standing right next to him, blood covering his lower stomach, and Derek can’t help but place his hand on the man’s shoulder, shaking him almost violently.

“What are you doing here?” Derek almost screams into his face.

“I was just out in town. The people seemed scared, whispering about مرد گرگ. The wolf man.”

“So you came out here?” Derek can’t believe what he’s hearing. Why would a human go challenge an alpha werewolf?

“It’s the same reason you’re here,” Stilinski hisses out a pained nose, his eyes sharp on Derek, “isn’t it?”

“Fuck Stiles.”

At any other time Derek would revel in the pleased spike in Stilinski’s scent at Derek using his first name. But this is not the time. He gets his hands off the other man, having heard a hurt yelp from Erica, and he goes to run back in. Stilinski’s hand curls around his wrist before he can. There’s a hopelessness in his eyes. “What about the kid?”

The victorious howl coming from their right reveals that is no longer something they have time to think about. Erica rises slowly, turning their way as she casts a last lingering look at the lifeless body underneath her. Blood drips over her chin, marking the lower side of her face a deep crimson, and she looks relentless as she spits out what Derek supposes is the alpha’s windpipe. “The kid will be fine without a killer for a granddad.”

“Will he?” There’s disappointment and anger in Stilinski’s scent, but his eyes only reveal the latter. “A lone werewolf child in a town where everyone despises his kind? Where everyone blames his kind for bringing the troops here in the first place?”

The guilt arrives quicker than Derek would have thought. Glancing between the bloody display that is the alpha’s body, Erica’s red covered canines and the stern anger in Stiles’ eyes, he feels lost.

Erica shrugs as she walks up to them, but he can see there’s conflict happening behind her eyes as well. “We could take him in.”

“And what?” Stilinski huffs out a bitter sounding laugh. “Train him how to kill for a different country?”

Stilinski swears, moving to angrily kick a lost pebble away. “Fucking fuck. This whole fucking place. This whole fucking war. What is the damn point? All we’re doing is leaving kids like that without a family. Without a home.”

There’s a lump in Derek’s throat now. He was a kid like that once. The sharp turn of Erica’s head reveals the same realization came to her. Shame fills her features as she goes to wipe away the remainders of the blood on her face with her hand.

The sergeant was right and the words stung, even if he knew they weren’t directed just at them. The child would be all alone now and Derek doesn’t want to imagine the things the vengeful villagers might do to him. Carefully he steps forwards, placing his hand on Stilinksi’s shoulder. “Sir, we can fix it. We can help him.”

Stilinski turns, eyes big and filled with a rage the other man had clearly been bottling up for a long time, and he hisses in pain at the movement. Derek eyes widen, he’d completely forgotten about the sergeant being hurt, and he is quick and unapologetic as he lifts the other man’s shirt.

Four scratches come into his vision and Derek releases a breath at seeing they’re not deep enough to have done any permanent damage. The veins on his arms turn a deep black, sucking the pain out of the human, and the soft moan that falls off the sergeant’s lips at the sensation is a sound he knows will replay in all his wet dreams from now on.

Stilinski’s body loses its strength and he all but falls onto Derek’s chest, the feeling of his pain leaving his body overtaking him. Derek is quick in raising his arm to support the added weight and Stilinski huffs out a pleased breath. “God, that definitely beats morphine.”

They stand there like that, Derek aware of every point at which their skins touch, for another few minutes. Slowly, Erica comes over and together they manage to walk back towards the base. The way there is filled with discussions about possible solutions for the kid and Derek and Erica share a look, both knowing the answer: they’ll take him. They owe the child that much.

The outline of their base comes into view and Derek stops them to a halt at the sight of it. Stiles looks over with a frown, eyes flicking between Derek and Erica, and the blonde swallows as she steps backwards and walks off south. She’d always known about Derek’s connection with the sergeant and it was clear she was giving Derek the chance to say goodbye privately.

Stiles’ brows are furrowed, eyes lingering on Derek with an emotion he can’t read. “Why are we stopping?”

“I’m- we’re not going back in.”

“Why not?” The eyebrows of the sergeant rise across from him briefly until he looks down, swallowing, before looking back up at him with almost sad eyes. “Nevermind. Stupid question. I understand.”

Derek can’t help but feel he owes the sergeant more of an explanation. “I just..can’t. Not after..”

“I completely understand private, or well..Derek.”

The sound of his name falling off those lips makes him look up sharply. Stiles’ eyes are filled with an intense level of remorse. And he can see the genuine understanding in them even if his heartbeat is jittery inside his chest. “And I’m sorry.”

Derek brows furrow. “You’re sorry?”

A pink blush reaches Stiles’ cheeks and his eyes lower back down to the dirt and pebbles between their feet. “I tried to change it, you know? I did. I thought it was horrible how they treated you guys.”

Derek hadn’t known that. His eyes widen as he looks up at the honesty in the sergeant’s expression. Their eyes are both emotional as he looks up at him. “But I guess some people are stuck in their..ignorance. Still, I’m sorry for it. For everything.”

“Thank you sergeant.”

“Call me Stiles, please. You’re no longer below me.” Stiles shrugs. “Not that you ever were.”

“Thank you Stiles.” Derek corrects himself, unable to help the blush from reaching his cheeks at the other man’s words. His eyes are steady when he looks back at Stiles. “But you have never had anything to apologize for. Yet you’ve already done it three times.”

“Overcompensating I guess.” Stiles huffs out a small laugh and Derek wants. He wants all of that. And in a different world he might have let himself have it. “But I meant it then and I mean it now.”

The air between them turns charged, an unknown tension filling up the increasingly small space in between their chests, and Derek has to control the way his heart is beating at the sight of Stiles so open, so genuinely remorseful, so kind, so..perfect.

The sergeant is the one to break the silence, looking down shyly. “I know that it means nothing, but you were the best soldier we had out here. I hope one day others can realize that too.”

Derek can’t help the way he’s reacting anymore. Stiles is so fucking kind. Everything he does, every word he says, is filled with a genuine love for everyone, for him, and it means the world to Derek. And he can’t help but want to keep that kindness forever. But he knows he can’t. Swallowing, he breaks their intense eye contact. “I hope so too.”

His words hang in the air like an unspoken promise. They share a long look, almost becoming painful at how obviously they both don’t want the other to leave just yet. Derek can’t help the tug in his stomach, because everything here is pointing to the sergeant wanting this too. The words fall out of his mouth before he can think twice about them. “You could come with us.”

“I-” Stiles’ eyes reveal that he doesn’t mind the idea, before they darken over with something that looks a lot like regret. “I can’t. Not yet.”

Derek swallows. “Your string project? “

“How did you-” Stiles’ eyebrows do that adorable frown thing again. “Yes. I need to round some things off.”

“Come after that.” Derek’s aware of how desperate he sounds but for once he doesn’t care. Maybe he could have this. Maybe it didn’t have to end in pain and regret. He was desperate for something not to end in pain and regret.

Stiles nods, the movement quick and revealing just how badly he wants to. He gets a marker out of his front pocket and moves to scribble something on Derek’s hand. “This is my personal phone number. Text me.”

“I will.”

They stare at each other with pained looks, both hoping this isn’t the last time they’d see each other, and Derek has to swallow at the intense emotions that are rushing through him. Stiles looks nervous, fiddling his thumb between his fingers, and Derek is about to say goodbye when a pair of lips smacks against his.

His eyes widen, needing a minute to process that this is happening, before a rumble fills up his chest. He moves forwards, pushing his lips against Stiles and getting his hand on the other man's body. Stiles’ lips are dry and chapped, which the Afghan sun will do to you, and Derek couldn’t care less as he goes to grind their lips together even further. Stiles releases a moan underneath him and Derek revels in the sound. The way Stiles’ mouth opens up allows for Derek to clash their tongues together as well. It’s a desperate kiss, both of them knowing it might be their last, and they pour all their emotions into it.

When they part, both breathing heavily, they stare at each other and all Derek can see is his own happiness staring right back at him. Please, let him have this.

\--

There’s a bright ray of sunshine falling on Derek’s bare legs and the grass he’s lying on feels soft against his body. He’d never thought the feeling of grass underneath his skin would make him as happy as it did. Grass was friendly. Grass wasn’t the slippery sand he’d ran away from.

He sits up, letting his eyes wander over their backyard. A blossoming cherry tree stands in the middle, one of Erica’s wishes - _I’ve just always dreamed of having a cherry tree Der-_ , and the rest of it leads into a thinning forest. It wasn’t quite the preserve he grew up in, but it was close enough.

They’d ended up in Venezuela. No idea why they’d chosen this place, except for the fact that it would in no way remind them of the desert plains they ran from. Also, they knew no one here. No one knew them here. No one knew what they were. Derek has used his family’s trust fund to build them a house in the woods, away from prying human eyes. It was a big house and Derek hoped it would one day be filled to the brim with pack.

A rubber beach ball bounces against his arm and he turns to see Chadi grinning his way. The young wolf was doing much better now, having had a year of time to settle down with them. They’d never told him they were the ones that killed his grandfather and he doesn’t think they ever will. Neither of them wants to think back to that time of their lives, the actions they took, and it wasn’t of importance right now. Chadi did bring it up though, but he had known his grandfather had died the moment his eyes had turned red.

The kid reminded Derek so much of himself. Both having lost their entire family to prejudice, both waking up with alpha eyes staring up at them before they even fully knew what that meant. A protective feeling comes over him as he watches Chadi race through the garden, eyes bright as he is happily kicking at his ball. Derek would make sure Chadi wouldn’t have to go down the path Derek had been forced into.

The rich smell of roasted garlic fills his nose and Erica comes walking out of the house, a big pan filled with parmesan chicken in her hands. She places it on their already decked terrace table, twirling around happily in her new flowery summer dress. Happiness looks good on her. Her cheeks have filled out and the harsh, broken look has left her big maroon eyes. She even wears her hair down now.

Grunting, Derek stands up and wanders over to the table. He pets Chadi’s hair as the child passes him by in his excitement. They sit down at the dinner table, Erica dividing the dish across their plates and Derek can say he’s actually happy now.

“Sorry I’m late!”

Stiles comes rushing into the garden, still wearing his beige deputy uniform, and a wide smile cracks across his face as he spots the dish in front of him. “We’re having parmesan chicken? Oh my god I haven’t had that since before enlisting. Please can I have a big piece Er? Pretty please, my dear catwoman?”

Erica sends him a small smirk. “Only if you do the dishes.”

“Deal.” Stiles grins, happy and pleased, and he comes over to peck Derek on the lips with a teasing look in his eyes. “Hey handsome.”

Chadi releases an embarrassed noise from next to them and goes to protest, moving down to sit next to Erica instead. A whole hearted laugh bellows out of Derek and he can’t help his widening smile as he looks up at the people in front of him. At the family in front of him.

Yeah, he is actually happy now.

END

**Author's Note:**

> This story was insipired by the absolutely amazing Netflix animation short "Shape-shifters". It's such an interesting, modern take on werewolf folkore and I highly recommend watching it. It's part of the animation project called "Love, death + robots", def give it a watch if you have the time. 
> 
> Then now my usual rambling: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING. I love everyone who reads my work and I am obsessed with reading your comments so pls leave on if you liked it. Thank you so much already !!!


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